


fitted pieces

by Pinkmanite



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: D/s elements, M/M, Pining, Polyamory, it was only a kiss how did it end up like this it was only a kiss it was only a
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 04:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17655740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: Will knows that he’ll never be Alex, but sometimes he wishes he could just be Nicky’s Will without the terms and conditions.





	fitted pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Hi it's been a weird month ish but I'm back y'all <3  
> So this fic is actually more or less complete, the second half just needs to go through another revision and should be up soon  
> Enjoy!

Will doesn’t even try to hide it anymore.

It’s not even worth pretending, not when Nicky clearly knows. And Alex, too. Of course he knows, because if Nicky knows something then Alex knows it, too. No matter how private and personal it is, there are no secrets between Nicky and Alex, never have been, never will be.

Okay, fine. Will’s jealous. But that’s not a secret, either. 

It’s not even that he’s jealous of Alex, nor of his relationship with Nicky. He’s jealous that Alex has some override, where he comes first, where everything that’s sacred between Will and Nicky goes out the window when Alex walks into the picture. 

Will knows that he’ll never be Alex, but he wishes he could just be Nicky’s Will without the terms and conditions. 

Not that Nicky knows it bothers him, or that he’s bothered by anything in general. It’s hard to find moments with Nicky, moments where it’s just the two of them. So Will don’t waste them, not with the bad stuff. It’s not like it’ll change anything, anyway, so he keeps it to himself. Instead, he cherishes their moments together, knows that he’ll be starving before he gets another.

There’s pang in his chest; familiar. He ignores it; routine.

 

~

 

Nicky’s in town this week, and he was thoughtful enough to let Will know, to remind him that he’s welcome to come hang out, to use his spare key.

It’d been part of Will’s birthday present one year, taped to the inside of the card, hidden. He’d been confused at first, but Nicky had found a moment to pull him aside, away from everyone else, to explain.

“Remember when I bought a condo in Stockholm last summer?” Nicky says, hushed, to make sure no one overhears.

Will raises a brow. “Yeah?”

“Well, I’m usually home. I just have it for when I have to be in town. For business or whatever, you know? So you’re welcome to use it whenever.”

“Oh,” Will’s eyes widen, he turns the key over in his hand. “Thanks, Nicky. That’s very nice of you.”

“You’re welcome,” Nicky shrugs, then grins. “Plus now I won’t have to get the door for you.”

Will rolls his eyes but laughs, shoves at his arm. They end up wrestling, but Nicky wins because he’s known Will’s strategy since he was eleven, taught it to him, even. 

It’s not until later that Will realizes what the key really means. He’s not Alex, will never be Alex, but he’s  _ something _ to Nicky. It’s not like Will’s incapable of buying his own place, nor is it unlikely that his dad would even buy a place for him, if he asked nicely enough.

There’s more meaning there, and Will hasn’t thought that part out, but it’s important and it defines them, somehow, into  _ something _ , even if Will can’t quite place it.

But Will had kept the key anyway, has the key now, and knows that Nicky’s going to be around. Knows that this is his opportunity to soak up as much Nicky Time as possible, because he doesn’t know when he’ll get it next.

Will’s early, and it’s selfishly on purpose, a poorly-hidden excuse to steal as many moments as he can, to monopolize Nicky while he has the opportunity. 

Which is probably why karma decides to smack him in the face.

“Nicky?” Will calls, gently shutting the door while he toes off his shoes, kicking them toward the pile near the door. Will spots Nicky’s wallet and keys on the table by the door, so he knows he must be home.

There’s a voice, low and hushed but firm, coming from the next room. Curiously, Will follows the sound, figuring Nicky’s probably just on a business call, getting stuff done before his plans with Will.

But.

“I know, I know,” and that’s Nicky voice, muffled behind the closed door to his study. “I know he’s in love with me, babe, I just,” Nicky makes a frustrated noise. “I don’t know how to bring it up to him.”

And… that’s certainly about Will, certainly about his stupid, blatant crush. Will decides it’s not his place to listen in on a conversation that’s not his to hear. Nicky just sounds so uncomfortable, so put out, like he’s been thinking about this for a while, like he’s been trying to find a solution to this  _ problem _ for a while.

Will is feeling a lot of things right now, but maybe mostly just embarrassed.

He retreats to the bathroom down the hall, takes a minute to recollect himself, to splash his face and pat it dry. 

Once he’s done, he finds Nicky in the living room, knocks on the wall to catch his attention. Nicky startles at first, but smiles once he sees him. 

“Sorry,” Will tries his best to smile, to make sure that Nicky doesn’t know that anything’s wrong. “Got here and had to use the bathroom. Didn’t know where you were.”

“I was just taking care of something,” Nicky shrugs it off like it’s nothing. Like the conversation he had was just an errand, like it wasn’t even that important. It stings a little, but Will pushes it down. 

But then Nicky smiles, as bright and genuine as ever. “You down for lunch?”

So Will tries to replicate the mood. “Hell yeah, I’m starving.”

Nicky’s cooking, because it’s something he doesn’t get to do a lot when they’re in season. Plus it’s nice, being home with the right ingredients, the brands he’d grown up on. It’s never anything as good as his mother’s, will never be, but it’s relaxing and refreshing. It’s another stolen moment.

Will is the world’s worst sous chef, but Nicky puts him to work, anyway. It’s been a thing for years, has been  _ their _ thing for years. Ever since Nicky lived in Will’s house in DC, where Nicky would make omelettes and bacon and make Will help chop up the vegetables.

Usually it’s relaxing, usually it’s one of Will’s favorite things, but remembering the conversation he overheard earlier, it makes Will feel like a kid, like Nicky only sees him as that same scraggly kid in DC. It makes him swallow around the lump in his throat.

“You okay?” Nicky’s looking at him a little curiously, still half-focused on whatever the hell he’s whisking, but mostly focused on Will.

Will tries, he really tries, to keep up a smile, to shrug it off and say it’s okay. He does, but he knows immediately that it’s weak, that Nicky sees right through it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” And it’s not a push, it’s a genuine question, a genuine offer. So Will shakes his head no and Nicky leaves it, pretends that he never saw it, and continues like it never happened.

Will’s grateful, but the lump in his throat grows bigger and bigger.

 

~

 

Nicky’s going up to Gävle tomorrow, so Will’s staying the night, hoarding as much time with him as he can. They’re watching television in the dark, some trashy reality show reruns on TV4. Nicky’s actually more focused on his phone, rather than the show. Will’s actually more focused on Nicky, rather than anything. 

He doesn’t mean to stare, but it’s hard not to, especially when he knows this could possibly be the last time he sees Nicky before the season starts, the last time he gets to be with him like this, whatever it is.

So naturally, Nicky catches him on a glance over. It’s inevitably awkward, there’s no way for it not to be, but Nicky makes it worse by frowning a little. By looking at Will with something related to sadness. Maybe even pity.

Will bites his lip. Longing. No point in trying to hide it, not now.

But what Will doesn’t expect is for Nicky to sigh, defeated, like he’d been just barely holding out, like there’s been a battle in his head that he’s finally lost. He shifts a little, makes room on the square of cushion next to him. Holds out an arm.

“C’mere,” he says, so quiet that Will almost doesn’t hear him. “Just… just this once.”

Will doesn’t move.

This is what he’s always wanted. Well, not completely, but it’s  _ something _ and it’s more than he ever thought he’d ever get from Nicky. He’s spent years telling himself that it’s a pipedream, that he’ll never get anything like this, so excuse him if he’s a little confused, a little shocked, a little bit behind in trying to process what exactly is happening. 

Nicky makes a face, pointedly nods toward the spot next to him.

And suddenly Will snaps out of it, gets up embarrassingly fast, plops into the spot like he has to claim it, like if he doesn’t, Nicky might take it back. He doesn’t care how desperate he looks, how desperate he  _ is _ , because Nicky has to know what this is for him. Nicky has to  _ know. _

It feels like everything he’s expected, wanted. Nicky is ridiculously warm, and, even if they’re around the same size these days, still ridiculously big. His arm is a heavy weight around Will’s shoulder, grounding him. He smells like his cologne, the same one he’s been using for years. 

It’s everything, and yet more. 

He doesn’t really know how it progresses, it’s kind of a haze, dreamlike, which is unfortunate later, when Will tries to look back on it, tries so hard to replay it so he can live it again and again in fruitless attempts to savor the memory. 

But the cuddling is just the gateway, the rest is the flood. 

Will kisses Nicky like it’s the one thing he’s been put on this earth to do, like this is his one and only chance to achieve his life’s purpose. Except, it isn’t, because Nicky kisses him back, desperate and hungry and so fucking  _ passionately _ that it makes Will’s head spin.

Nicky wants him. Nicky  _ wants _ him. Wants him like  _ this _ .

Will wraps his arms around him, selfishly takes as much as he can get while Nicky is still offering, while Nicky is still here with him, just for him. He climbs into his lap, into his space, into his  _ head _ . He presses himself as close as he can get, like if he tries hard enough he can weld them into one. 

“Nicky,” Will whines, pained and out of breath, when he finally has to pull away for air.  He hates how throaty it sounds, how broken, how  _ desperate _ . But. “Please.”

“Will, I—”

“No, just,” Will cuts in quickly but immediately trails off, frustrated and unable to find the words. So instead he kisses him, quick but firm. Fast, heavy. He isn’t really even thinking, but he  _ wants _ , and it’s impulse when he says it all in a rush. “It doesn’t even have to  _ mean _ anything—”

But then Nicky goes stiff, his face instantly falling. Willy freezes, stops immediately, but it’s too late. Nicky pulls away like he’s been burned, like he’s accidentally touched fire and been scalded, whitehot. He pushes Will off of him, sends him falling back into the couch.

Nicky doesn’t say anything, so neither does Will. He watches, feeling stuck in time, like he can’t move. Watches Nicky gets up and run his stupidly big hands over his stupid face, through his stupid hair.

“I’m going to bed and you should, too,” is all Nicky finally says, voice thin, poorly hiding his upset. “To the guest room,” he clarifies, adds as an afterthought.

He doesn’t wait for Will to move, for Will to process what’s happened, for Will to try to backtrack and apologize and chase back the brink of whatever it is they had been on.

He goes and leaves Will there, alone on the couch. Wrecked.

TV4 is still playing in the background, but Will’s thankful for the noise, thankful it blocks out whatever thoughts would be otherwise going through his head instead. 

Nicky had told him to use the guest room but Will can’t subject himself to be in Nicky’s house any longer, not after all of that, when he feels so… all of this. 

It’s late and it’s unreasonable and maybe a little unfair, but Will grabs his car keys, shoves his shoes on without untying them. 

He leaves. He goes home.

 

~

 

Nicky tries to call him in the morning but Will hits decline and goes back to sleep.

 

~

 

A few weeks later, Nicky just happens to be in town again, and the Nylanders invite him to dinner, which he accepts, of course, because fate hates Will like that. 

Nicky tries to play it off like nothing happened, even though Will can tell he’s a little bit more awkward, more than usual, anyway. He’s walking on eggshells, like he’s scared that he’ll cough the wrong way and it’ll set Will off on him.

Well. He’s not wrong, but Will doesn’t like it any better. 

The whole point of Will being upset at Nicky is because he treats Will differently now. Like whatever connection or closeness they had before has been hard reset, erased, and Will is at square one.

Square one, where he’s just a kid running around the locker room, more in need of a babysitter than a friend. Where Nicky is a stranger, one that Will is a little skeptical about. One that is a little skeptical about Will. Because he is a child, and Nicky never really knew how to deal with children.

Like how Nicky doesn’t know how to deal with Will right now. 

It’s a slap in the face, Will thinks. After everything, after all that he thought they had. Nicky should know him better than that. Better than  _ this _ . 

Apparently he doesn’t. 

“Pass the peas, Nicky?” Will says, much too sweetly, smile just too wide. 

Nicky blinks at him like a deer in headlights but passes the bowl over without a word. 

No one else at the table seems to notice the exchange, and while Will is still generally annoyed (at Nicky), he’s grateful for his family’s knack for missing the little things. 

When Will chances another glance in Nicky’s general direction, he’s focused quite deeply on his own pile of peas on his own plate. Good, Will thinks meanly, he shouldn’t be the only one sitting here, suffering like this.

He’s still glaring at Nicky when he feels a kick to his shin. It’s not hard, it doesn’t hurt, but Will wasn’t expecting it, so he yanks his leg back with a start. It makes him hit the table with his knee, his fork falling from his hand in a clank.

Everyone looks at him, a little concerned, a little annoyed. Will feels his face go red, but he waves them off.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, picking his fork back up, “stubbed my toe on the table,” he offers, weak. His dad keeps glaring at him, trying to communicate something with his facial expressions, but Will just makes a face and goes back to staring at his peas.

He doesn’t dare look for Nicky’s reaction.

After a moment, once the conversation has picked back up again and one of Will’s sisters has regained the full attention of the table, Will turns to his right and gives his brother the dirtiest look he can manage. 

“The fuck was that for?” He whispers, looks pointedly under the table, just in case Alex forgot.

Alex shrugs and picks up his wine glass, skulls it all down in one gulp, doesn’t even flinch. Will rolls his eyes.

“Why do you want to kill Nicky?” Alex says evenly, once he’s set his glass down again.

“Hush,” Will scolds him. It’s not like Alex was speaking particularly loudly, but if he could be just a little bit more discreet, all things considered. 

Alex rolls his eyes this time. “Lillasyster’s talking his ear off, relax.” And he’s right, his sister’s seated right next to Nicky, and she’s very busily showing him some video on her phone. 

“So you’re all clear to tell me what’s wrong with you,” Alex continues, reaching for Will’s wine glass. But Will catches him just in time, easily snatches his glass and takes a sip, then sets it out of Alex’s reach.

“I’m mad at him,” Will says, short and petulant. 

“Obviously.”

“Look, he’s just been acting weird. So it’s been a thing. That’s all, okay?” Will takes another long sip from his wine. 

Alex grabs the glass from Will’s hands before he can set it back down this time. Will lets him, watches him drink and then open his mouth again. “That sounds like you just need to talk it out.”

“It’s whatever. There’s nothing to fix, this is how it’s supposed to be,” Will can hear the misery in his own words, but he doesn’t try to take it back. He stands by it.

Alex can tell, he huffs. “You’re always so stubborn.”

Will’s about to argue more, but their mom interrupts before he can get a word out. “What’s Wille stubborn about this time?” She’s smiling, though, so that must’ve been all she heard. 

Before Will says something stupid, Alex touches his arm under the table, a reassurance.  _ I got this _ , is what he says without saying. Alex doesn't miss a beat. “He’s getting in my face about that new video game again, don’t worry about it, Mamma, I’ll handle this one.” 

It’s smooth and believable, especially when Alex throws in a little shove. It’s not rare for the two of them to admit it, but Will really does love his brother sometimes. 

Emphasis on the  _ sometimes _ because Alex chooses to continue speaking, something he should do less of, really. 

“Wille will come around eventually, he always does,” Alex shrugs, glances around the table nonchalantly. But Will sees him linger on Nicky until they lock eyes. Only then does Alex finish his thought. “Just takes effort.” He drops eye contact and looks around the table, casual again. “It’s just ‘cause he’s a brat,” Alex grins, cheeky.

It sends a lot of things into motion, and to be fair, that’s probably exactly what Alex was going for.

“Alex,” their mom scolds immediately, exasperated, immediately grabbing for her wine. Ah, well, gotta have learned it from somewhere. 

“Really?” Their dad crosses his arms, joins the conversation.

The girls fall into a fit of giggles, snickering behind their hands, piping up with their agreements and any additional evidence they have to offer up, devilishly quick to supply. 

It’s chaos, but Will only notices one thing.

Nicky’s sitting quietly, cheeks pink and mouth in a tight line. He’s focusing very hard on his own wine glass, but he doesn’t move to drink from it or fill it. It’s like he’s trying to distract himself, and that’s enough of a sight for Will.

“Can I be excused,” Will finally blurts, a little high and a little rude. He’s already making to stand and grabbing his plate, forgoing any sense of manners he has left. His mom looks like she’s about to kill him, but his dad just looks exhausted, so he’s the one that waves him away.

“Fine, go,” he groans, “just go.”

Will doesn’t hesitate to make his escape.

 

~

 

Will isn’t too surprised when there’s a knock on his door, no more than half an hour later. He’s even less surprised to find Nicky waiting patiently on the other side.

“Um,” Nicky startles, like he hadn’t actually expected Will to open the door. “Hi?”

Crossing his arms, Will lets the door swing shut until it’s stopped by his own body, blocking it the rest of the way. “Yeah?”

Nicky sighs. “I don’t want it to be like this.”

Will doesn’t know what kind of response Nicky wants, but he doesn’t care all that much, either. He squints at him. “It is what it is.”

Swallowing, Nicky resets and tries again. “Look, I just wanted to check on you. After what happened at the table.”

“I’m fine,” Will says, curt. “I’m a big boy now, you don’t have to hover.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Is that all you wanted?” He interupts, feeling more and more upset the longer this goes. Nicky doesn’t say anything right away and that’s enough for Will.

“Fine, then.” He turns away and is about to close the door right in Nicky’s face, but then he remembers. “Wait, actually.”

He feels a little bad, the way that Nicky perks up at it, the way it gives some kind of false hope. So Will makes a face, tries to exude more angry energy in Nicky’s direction. He keeps his door open with his foot, but disappears behind it to dig through his coat pocket.

He pulls out his keys. 

“Here,” Will says forcefully, finding Nicky’s key and wrestling it off the ring. “Take this back.”

Nicky realizes what it is and he frowns, deeper than before. “Willy, come on—”

“Just. Don’t argue with me right now, just take it,” Will says even harder this time, nearly a shout. But it isn’t, and Nicky doesn’t seem like he’s in the mood to push his luck.

Will holds it out and Nicky takes it, no complaints other than the hurt on his face.

“That’s settled, so,” Will brave faces, chest pushed out. It’s so obvious that he’s fronting but he doesn’t even care anymore. To hell what Nicky thinks of him now. “Good night.”

He closes the door in Nicky’s face, tells himself he doesn’t regret a second of it.

It doesn’t quite work.

 

~ 

 

A few days later, Will wakes up to three missed calls and an iMessage from a number without a contact name and a +7 country code. 

It doesn’t quite register at first. It’s a little unusual, and Will’s phone company is pretty good about vetting his Swedish number, so he hardly gets junk anymore, so it’s a little weird at first.

But then he holds his thumb over the little circle until his lockscreen morphs open. He thumbs over to his Messages and then—

_ Maybe:  _ _ Александр Овечкин _

It takes another second, because it’s still morning and Will hasn’t had coffee yet, but then.

Oh.

Maybe if Will had his head on straighter, maybe if he had a proper cup of coffee before diving right into this nonsense, he’d wait to call Alex Ovechkin back until later, once he’s had time to think this through and compose himself.

Will isn’t the type to think ahead like that.

He hits  _ Call _ without really thinking, a true impulse, and waits. There’s only four rings before one is interrupted and there’s a shuffling sound on the other end. 

_ “Da?” _

“It’s Will,” he says, but it comes out more like a question than anything.

_ “Oh,” _ there’s a bit more shuffling,  _ “Good morning, Little Nylander.” _

“Please don’t call me that,” Will half-grumbles. 

_ “You sleep well?” _

“Yeah, no thanks to my phone blowing up,” Will hums. “You called me?”

_ “Hm, yes.” _

There’s a beat where Will waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t.

“And? What was so important that you had to call three times?”

_ “Nicke is sad.” _

Will groans, probably still audible to Ovechkin. “Yeah? And what am I supposed to do about that?”

_ “Nicke is sad about Little Nylander.” _

“Nicky can suck it up like an adult and move on.”

_ “But you don’t really mean that, do you? You are also hurting, I can hear in your voice.” _

Will kicks at his blanket until it falls off his bed, suddenly antsy. “You don’t know anything about me, you don’t know what I sound like.” He stops himself, breathes a little. “Look, if Nicky’s upset, shouldn’t it be  _ your _ job to fix that?”

There’s more shuffling, and it’s starting to really annoy Will. But then Alex speaks again,  _ “I cannot fix this one. Nicke is sad about Little Nylander.” _

Will huffs, petulant. “Has Nicky thought about the fact that maybe Little Nylander is sad about  _ him _ , because if he wants to fix this, well. I’m right fucking here.”

Ovechkin hums acknowledgedly over the line, and Will can practically hear him shrug.

_ “Fix each other.” _

There’s a click, a beat, and Will only then realizes he’s been hung up on.

Asshole.

  
  


~

  
  


Will calls Nicky eventually, once he’s tired himself out with getting too in his head about this. 

Also, he realizes he’s left his jacket at Nicky’s. The Gucci one. He can’t go back to Canada without the Gucci one. So really, it’s for the greater good here.

The line only rings once before Nicky picks up.

_ “Hello? Will?” _

He sounds frazzled. Just a little.

“Yeah, hey. Um. Can I come by today? I think I left my jacket at yours? And I’m packing for the season and I need it for Toronto, so…”

_ “Oh,” _ there’s pause, a little too long not to be suspicious. “ _ Sure, um, of course! Uh, when are you thinking of coming by, actually?” _

Will smiles a little. “Why does it matter? Got something you’re hiding, Nicky, huh?”

_ “No!” _ Nicky says maybe a little too quickly.  _ “I mean, um, come by whenever.” _

“Cool,” Will says. “See you later then.”

_ “See you.” _

Will hangs up, a little confused, a little cautious, but mostly feeling good about himself. 

 

~

 

He rings the doorbell. Because he doesn’t have a key.

“Nicky, open the door,” Will kicks a little at the door. “I’m here, Nicky, open the door.”

Perhaps a little childish, Will rings the bell again, and again, and maybe a few more times. If Nicky’s not home, it doesn’t matter, anyway. If Nicky’s home, it’s his own damn fault for ignoring Will like this.

The door opens.

It’s not Nicky.

“Relax, Little Nylander.”

Will glares at Alex unkindly. “I told you not to call me that.”

“William,” Alex corrects, the air of condescension is clear. Will doesn’t quite appreciate it.

He crosses his arms. “Where’s Nicky?”

“Out.”

“Why are you here?”

“I have a key,” Alex says, then digs in his pockets until he can pull out his key ring, picks one specific key out, a red design, and dangles it in Will’s face. To emphasize his point.

Will’s key didn’t have a cool design.

Perhaps more upset than he’d like to let on, Will shoulders past Alex, who doesn’t put up too much of a fight. “I’m just here to pick up my jacket.”

“I know,” Alex says, a bit too cheery. He closes and locks the door, follows after Will dutifully. “Nicke told me.”

Will goes straight for Nicky’s room, purposefully, doesn’t even glance back. He goes into the closet like owns it, rifles through Nicky’s clothes like he has every right to. “Yeah? And what else did Nicky tell you?”

Alex doesn’t answer at first. It’s long enough of that Will spares a look over his shoulder, fleeting, but enough for Alex to catch. He smirks when their eyes meet and something boils in Will.

“You already have Nicky, do you have to be an asshole about it, too?”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “And you think you  _ don’t _ have Nicke?”

“Well, obviously.”

“Do you really believe that, Will?”

And that startles him, because Alex has never called him Will, but it rolls off his tongue easily, like he’s used to saying it, like it’s something he says more often than not. There’s something to unpack there, and Will opens his mouth to say something, but then Alex shakes his head, sighs, and the moment breaks.

Will looks back into the closet, somehow his gaze lands immediately on his jacket, folded on a shelf near the back. He grabs it, retreats back out. 

Alex is sitting on the bed, now. He pats the spot next to him. 

“Come here, Nylander.”

Will makes a face automatically, and Alex frowns, but sympathizes. 

“Come on, it’s time we talked, no?”

The thing is, Alex isn’t wrong. They should’ve talked about this forever ago, but Will is stubborn, knows he’s stubborn.

Will’s been hurting, knows he’s hurting.

“Fine,” Will sits where he’s told, holds his jacket in his lap like it might shield him from whatever is about to go down. 

“I know you and Nicke kissed,” is what Alex hits him with.

Will shifts uncomfortably. “What, do you want me to apologize? Because I won’t.”

“No,” Alex admits, “but I have concerns.”

“Whatever, if you and Nicky are having relationship issues, maybe  _ you two _ should talk. I just happened to be there.”

“That’s not,” Alex stops, sighs, frustrated, like he’s trying to get some point across that Will just isn’t getting. “Me and Nicke aren’t having relationship issues.”

Will gives him a look. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Alex snaps. But he composes himself. “What I’m trying to say is, Nicke loves me, that won’t change. But he love you, too.”

And that’s… Will swallows. “Why would you sit me down and say that to me? Is this fun for you?”

Alex shakes his head. “You don’t get it. Nicke loves you and I love Nicke. And if Nicke wants you… well,” Alex pauses, and something changes. He looks Will up and down. “I’m not opposed to letting him take his fill. Under my terms, of course.”

“What?”

“I don’t like you kissing Nicke behind my back. But if it is in front,” Alex makes a considering motion, “I might not mind so much.”

There’s a weighted silence while Will processes what exactly Alex is offering here. He breathes in sharply, then opens his mouth, shuts it again. He tries again, hands fisted on his thighs, hidden by his jacket. 

“What,” he clears his throat, “what exactly are you offering me here?”

Alex grins. “You can have Nicke, but you’ll have to have me, too.”

Will is hesitant. He takes his time, studies Alex’s face. Really studies it. Although still skeptical, he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“You’re not just fucking with me?”

“No, Will.”

“Then,” Will looks away, “I’ll take it, I’ll— Yeah. I’m in.”

Alex moves a hand to Will’s thigh, not too close, but suggestive enough. “Good, that’s what we were hoping for.”

Will leans in closer, maybe without fully realizing it. “We?”

“Nicke, too. Nicke, especially.”

Then Alex manages reach out, to lift Will’s chin with a feather-light touch. Will goes easily, lets Alex continue. 

Lets Alex kiss him, light on his lips. Chaste.

But when Will leans into it, really goes all in on it, it’s like the cue that Alex was waiting for to really dive in. There’s a hand immediately tangled in Will’s hair, another firm at his cheek, angling him where Alex wants him. 

It’s easy for Will to melt into it, when Alex so easily takes control.

When Alex’s tongue prods at the seam of his lips, Will opens up without hesitation. When Alex’s hand snakes between them, he parts his thighs automatically. It’s almost instinctual, like Willy doesn’t even have to think about anything at all, and all of that at once is overwhelmingly perfect.

And so is the hand, large and warm and just the right kind of rough, currently gripped around his dick.

Will keens, shamelessly cants his hips into it, chasing after the touch. But Alex holds him down at the hip, keeps him steady while he pumps him at a painfully leisurely pace.

“Shh, shh,” Alex hushes him, right into his ear, “be good.”

The words go straight to Will’s dick, but also short circuit his head, somehow getting through until he focuses enough to keep still, propped up easy and good for Alex to do as he pleases.

Will keeps his arms wrapped around Alex’s neck, keeps them close enough together, hangs on for dear life. He tries not to dig his nails into Alex’s shirt, his skin, but Alex whispers in his ear and gives him the little encouragements he didn’t know that he so desperately craved. 

He clings, uninhibited, after that, but he remembers to be good and keeps still enough otherwise, enough for Alex to continue to jerk him off.

“Alex, Alex,” Will manages to mumble into his neck, “more.”

“You take what I give,” Alex says, stern. He chooses that moment to twist his grip, brush a thumb over the slit. Will groans, loud and throaty but inevitably stifled into Alex’s skin.

“Very good,” Alex grins against his hair, “almost there.”

And his strokes change, a little bit more urgent, a little bit more deliberate. A little more attention to the much more sensitive spots. He keeps a low whisper, mostly nonsense but absolutely mesmerizing, keeping Will grounded through it all.

“I’m, I’m” Will exhales, incoherent.

“You can do it,” Alex says simply, tugs again and again. “Do it.”

It’s all a rush, and Will can feel it physically, the electric pull in his stomach, in his dick, spread all the way to his fingertips and his toes. He throws his head back, screws his eyes shut, head spinning with a million thoughts, none of which he can grasp enough to make any sense at all.

By the time he manages to come back to himself, Alex has wiped him clean and is holding him tenderly, gently petting his hair back into place.

“You did so good,” Alex hums, “so, so good.”

Will leans into it, doesn’t even realize what he’s asking for until Alex takes his lips in his and kisses him gently now, sweet. 

He reaches down a little clumsy, tries to get a hand on Alex, keen to return the favor, but suddenly Alex’s hand is around his wrist, pulling it away and patting it down to his side. He sighs, pulls away, and gently pushes Will off of him until they’re sitting side-by-side and the only touch between them in the brush of fingertips on Will’s wrist.

“What...” Will tries, glances at the bulge in Alex’s pants then trails off.

“Don’t worry,” Alex laughs, dry but light. “Later, later.”

He kisses Will again, long but mostly chaste. He’s the one to end it, leaving Will keening at the loss.

And if Will expected more, he’s left disappointed, for Alex pulls away completely then, hands to himself and a hearty space between them again. 

“Go home now, William.”

Will blinks, a little dazed, and very much confused. “But—”

“Not now,” Alex reaffirms, stands up himself. “Go home and we’ll continue this later.”

Will stands, shuffles his jacket between his hands, awkwardly. But the sight of him must be that pathetic, because Alex softens, reaches a hand out to stroke his cheek. 

“Soon, Will. But we need some time, no?”

It makes sense, but Will can’t help but to feel like he’s been played, somehow. Pranked, played with. He feels gross, maybe a little hollow. Alex pats his head, and it doesn’t feel any better.

“I promise,” Alex tries again, following him to the door.

Will unfolds his jacket and shrugs it on, unlocks the door and opens it himself. He’s still a little dazed, but. “Just. Just tell Nicky I miss him. Please.”

Alex blinks, then breaks into something a little more sympathetic. “Of course.”

He sighs, a little more at ease. “Thanks.”

And with that, Will goes.

 

 


End file.
